


Fragile Skies

by ninwrites



Series: Shadowhunters Coda Scenes [5]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Book References, Canon Compliant, Coda, Developing Friendships, Episode: s02e16 Day of Atonement, Gen, I just want them to be friends okay, I missed these two, Luke Garroway and Magnus Bane friendship, Missing Scene, Pre-Episode: s02e17 A Dark Reflection, Seelie Court mentioned, Spoiler-ish, filler scene, for now, luke garroway appreciation fic, my new brotp, so I put them together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 05:43:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11548677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninwrites/pseuds/ninwrites
Summary: The invitation comes at the Queen's request. It is non-negotiable.// Luke turns to a much wiser companion for advice in meeting with the Seelie Queen.





	Fragile Skies

**Author's Note:**

> A Magnus & Luke coda fic because I missed them this week and I haven't actually written them as friends before...
> 
> love to my parabatai for reading over this for me, you're my rock. <3 as always credit to the shadowhunters wiki for the seelie knowledge and the codex for the quotes. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!

 

Luke is seated at his desk, top drawer slid out with an open packet of jerky calling for his attention, a homicide file spread before him demanding it. He's supposed to be concentrating on his work, but the jerky is too tempting, and he'd been out all morning chasing up a lead on the case, anyway, he deserves a five minute break.

Or, a fifteen minute one, more accurately.

Luke, suddenly, picks up on a distinct whiff of embers, woody and burnt. A letter flickers into existence before him, the tips crackling with flames that smell like freshly up-turned earth. He catches the letter quickly, ignoring the slight tinge that nips at his fingers. Odd. Most fire-messages don't hurt the recipient.

Luke casts a quick glance around the, fortunately sparse room, and straightens out the letter. It smells of oak and rose, with something distinctintly twisted beneath. He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck raise to attention, but manages to push down the primal urge to transform at the first hint of danger. It's been harder, since he became an Alpha, to refrain from turning. Thankfully, he's gotten better at practicising self-control.

The invitation comes at the Queen's request. It is non-negotiable.

_The Downworlder Cabinet will meet in the Seelie realm for discussion on Valentine's disappearance and how best to protect our people. If you respect the bond the Downworlder factions have always shared, you will be prompt and sincere. This is not a matter for the Nephilim. Actions have consequences, so consider yours carefully._

_I have faith in you, Lucian Garroway. I believe you will make the right decision. It would not be in your best intentions to prove me wrong._

 

The request is written in elegant scripture that shimmers like molten gold, sealed with blood red wax fashioned in the shape of a rose, two leaves curled around it like a wreath. Luke hasn't had the chance to meet with the Seelie Queen yet, but the things he's heard are less than comforting, especially for him.

Luke can be calm, but also quick to temper, and he despises being cornered. And cornered he has been. If he doesn't turn up at this meeting, the Queen might mistake his absence for siding with the Shadowhunters over the Downworlders, and doubt his dedication to his pack. Rumours spread like wildfire in the realm of Fey, and having a grudge held against him, by the Queen, would be the same as having a dagger pointed to his heart. The Queen, whilst not technically immortal, has a longer lifespan than him, and doesn't seem the type to easily forget.

Forgoing this meeting would be as good as signing his own death sentence.

Luke slumps defeatedly in his seat, the golden words imprinted in his mind. The last cabinet meeting hadn't gone all that well, and while he admits his slip in judgement, he stands by his actions, now more than ever.

Valentine should have died in that cell, and now, somehow, he's escaped. And the Clave, in their divine supervision, are hopeless to capture him again. None of them can look past their upturned noses to see the world before them, the glass city blinding them to what is really going on.

The Seelie Queen, for all her fatalistic flaws, can only tell the truth. In these desperate times, truth is what they all need.

 

* * *

 

Magnus remembers when he found out that Lucian Graymark, Valentine's infamous  _parabatai_ , had been turned into a werewolf. He'd almost fallen off his chair. Raphael had been practically alight with glee, lips stained as red as the blood in his crystalline glass, at the idea of one of the Circle's most affluent members becoming one of  _them_ , something he'd spent years hating and hunting.

Then Magnus had met Luke, as Luke and not a Shadowhunter, and it wasn't so funny anymore.

He hadn't taken Luke under his wing the way he had Raphael, nor had he (attempted to) offer sage advice the way Ragnor had for him. In the beginning stages, they weren't even friends, like Magnus and Catarina.

If anything, it was as he'd tried to be for Simon - a Downworlder sponsor. There to answer any questions Luke had, considering his vaste and extensive knowledge of the Downworld spanning literal centuries.

There's a stark difference between being born into the Downworld, and forced into it. Magnus has never known anything different than what he is.

For the first twenty years of his life, Luke was a Shadowhunter, a human for the most part. Raised on an angelic pedestal and taught that anyone different was beneath him. Taught to kill Downworlders for their impurities - and then, by quite a cruel twist of fate, he'd been turned into the very thing he'd hunted.

Whatever ill-will Magnus had reserved towards Luke had dissipated the moment he'd seen the hazed look in Luke's eyes as he'd trudged into the Hunter's Moon, fresh from a transformation, clothes torn and blood smeared on his face and down his neck. It wasn't Valentine's ex- _parabatai_  standing before him. It was a man, a boy really, facing a world he didn't understand, lost and confused and in desperate need for someone to tell him that everything would be okay.

Magnus' good friend, Woolsey Scott, had created the Praetor Lupus in his brother's name, with the intention of protecting orphaned Downworlders and intigrating them into the Shadow World. It was with respect to Woolsey that Magnus offered Luke a clean change of clothes and a firm handshake, erasing their convoluted past and extending hope for the future.

Since then, the two of them have been friends, more or less. They're hardly close, but there's a respect between them, a mutual admiration and the faith that one will be there for the other in times of strife.

Still. When Magnus opens his door, the persistent knocks loud and jarringly unfamiliar, it's not Luke he expects to see on the other side.

He's not sure who, exactly, he'd expected. In spite of his rather whimsical desires he understands that Alec likely won't return for a few days. The Institute needs him, though whether as a Shadowhunter or a leader is a matter yet to be ascertained - he can't afford to skip back to the loft when a homicidal maniac is out on the loose.

Really, Magnus hadn't been expecting to hear from anyone. The Downworlder cabinet meeting is set to start in an hour, which means any attendees would be preparing for the discussion, and of course, for facing the Queen herself. Other Downworlders are surely keeping as low under the radar as they can until Valentine has been wiped from existence, permanently. If Magnus wasn't in such a high position of power, if he wasn't needed, he'd have abandoned post long ago.

Then again, self-preservation has always been a notion he's had a complicated relationship with.

"Luke," Magnus' hand tightens around the doorframe. There's something ... guarded about Luke's expression, and distrust is a born instinct. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

Luke waves something before him, a slip of parchment similiar to one Magnus had received only moments before. "I got this earlier," He explains, forehead creased deeply. "From the Seelie Queen."

Magnus steps back, opening the door wider. "You'd best come inside." He suggests, waiting until after Luke has entered the room before sighing exhaustedly.

He hasn't had enough sleep to deal with the Fair Folk, in all honesty, and he doubts the Queen has changed any since they last interacted. She likes to think that they're friends, because they're timeless, though in different ways, and correcting her would be seen as a sign of disrespect, the bubbling tension of a budgeoning war. The last thing they need is for her to side with Valentine.

"As you can see," Magnus gestures loosely to his glass coffee table, atop which rests a similiar roll of parchment. "I've been invited, too."

Luke glances between the letters. Magnus' is stamped with the same wax seal, but the message itself appears to differ. Longer, the scripture impossibly delicate. Magnus crosses to the closest armchair, offering Luke a seat with a quick wave. There's something bothering him, something more than just the letter.

"I thought fire-letters couldn't be sent to Faerie." Luke settles on, after a moment of soundless whirring thoughts. His elbows rest on his knees, his letter resting on the table next to Magnus'. His eyes, when they lift to meet Magnus' gaze, are dark and searching.

"Technically, they can't." Magnus twists the ring on his thumb, absently. "That's not a fire-message."

"But it appeared exactly as a fire-message would." Luke's expression tightens, as though he's physically reigning himself in. His hands wring before him, desperate to cling onto something that makes sense.

"Faeries have been around longer than fire-messages." Magnus explains, adding with a low, self-deprecating huff. " _I've_  been around longer than fire-messages. There are other ways of communicating - usually, if the Seelie Queen wants your attention she'll send someone for her. The letter is an indication that she expects us there. Trust is a balancing act, and you and I are both teetering on the edge."

Magnus watches, silently, as his words sink in. The Queen doesn't have faith in them for their respective relationships with the Shadowhunters. She's made it very clear that she sees a divide between the Nephilim and the Downworld, and she expects their alliances to be on the winning side, on her side.

"What did your letter smell like?" Magnus asks, after a beat.

Luke frowns, clearly not understanding the point of the question though he does consider it. His nose scrunches up. "Wood. Burning wood. And roses, of all things."

Magnus's thumb presses into the tip of his index finger. "Did it hurt, when you touched it?"

Luke nods, appearing a little relieved. "Yes. I was confused, because I don't remember fire-messages ever having that effect."

Magnus stands up, slim necklaces clinking with the movement. "That's because they don't." He crosses to his desk, tucked away in the corner of the room. "Fire-messages were created for Shadowhunters. For communication between the Institutes and Idris." He skims his eyes across the surface of the desk, searching for something he knows but can't remember. "It is, especially for the Fey, a butchered version of a communication system they'd been using for millenia."

Luke makes a low noise, somewhere between a sigh and a growl, deep in his throat. Magnus doesn't need words to understand. The Nephilim as a whole have a tendency to take things from others and reclaim them as their own. Magnus knows that his name has been wiped from the history books, for his participation in the creation of the Portal. The Codex, especially, the training wheels for new Shadowhunters, refers to him as both a "warlock whose name history, unfortunately, does not record" and an "anonymous warlock collaborator", as though it was some random warlock who Henry Branwell pulled in to help.

Which is ridiculous. It was a joint experiment, his skills just as important as Henry's. Henry had the plans, and Magnus understood them - they worked together to get it created, and while not a surprise, it's still a strike to his heart, that he's not credited for any of it.

Not that he blames Henry, of course. Henry Branwell was a darling, if eccentric man, who unlike many others in his position, actually considered Magnus as an equal. In fact, he was at times very sweetly in awe of Magnus' power.

Not that the Clave give a damn about any of that.

"The message arrives through a spell." Magnus explains distractedly, tugging open a drawer. Nothing. "The Fey have a delicate relationship with the natural structure of the world, and in return for their respect, the elements are malleable to their desires. The Nephilim stuck on a rune and called it theirs."

"And the rose?" Luke asks.

"The Queen's personal touch." Magnus' mouth tugs down of it's own accord. "So it can't be mistaken." He rifles through the third draw, somewhat in vain. He's quickly losing hope, which means that by all laws of the universe, this is the draw where he finds what he's looking for.

"Aha," He exlaims softly, lifting out a small, golden ring with leaves embedded in either side. "Found you."

"Found what?" Luke asks, sounding louder despite not having moved. Magnus shuts the drawer and spins on his heel, ring a heavy weight in his palm.

"The key to our negotiation." Magnus holds his hand out, so that Luke can see the object better. The leaf pattern is the same as that of the Queen's seal. "This is a faerie-ring, another form of communication. This links the minds of the wearers, allowing a private and telepathic stream. Quite rare, as it were, there aren't that many that still exist. I think the Unseelie King might have a few, but he's a very abrupt and upfront person. Not much for talking."

Luke's eyes narrow, though it's with patience and confusion, rather than anything else. "How did you manage to get your hands on one then?"

Magnus' hand closes around the ring. His ears are burning, reminding him of the old adage about being talked about. Not quite the issue here. "I might have, repurposed them from somewhere else. For purely altruistic reasons, of course."

Luke scoffs, lightly. "Of course."

Magnus smirks, like there's a secret between them, a fact only they are privvy to. "What does the New York Institute's library need with a faerie ring?" He ponders, twisting his fingers. A silk pouch, royal blue like an iris, hangs from his fingertips. The ring is dropped in there for safe-keeping. "It's not like anyone has noticed yet."

Luke's mouth presses together in a thin line. Magnus wonders if he's said or done something wrong. It's not like the rings are the property of the Shadowhunters, and they don't work as a singular item. If he uses his possesion of one to sway the Queen towards their favour, it's no less of a step than she would take. In fact, she'd probably respect him more, for his tenacity.

"I'm sorry," Luke says, eyes downcast. Magnus frowns, but doesn't interrupt. Luke hardly ever speaks without meaning. "I should have apologised a lot earlier - when I found out what Valentine had done, I was too focused on my own anger, my frustration at the Clave for their inactivity, to consider how it might have affected you."

"You shared a soul with the man for years." Magnus points out, voice distant to his own ears. It's not something he likes to talk about. Or think about. Or remember.

Luke's eyes are dark and piercing. Lines stark on his forehead. A hopelessness to his wringing hands, despair to the hunch of his shoulders. Magnus has always believed that being a detective works well for Luke, for a man of honour with a protective streak a mile wide, a sensible mind and intrinsic understanding of universal dynamics. He's the kind of person who always needs to be doing something, restless when still, acts best in motion.

"I should have been more considerate." Luke states. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. I can't imagine how..." He pauses, selecting his words deliberately. Then drops off, when none come to him.

"Nothing to be done about that, now." Magnus dismisses, wishing the cold, slick darkness would hold off, just for the day. It can, and will, return once the sun sinks into the horizon, but he has things to do today, important tasks that need him to be focused and present. "If we don't leave now, we'll be late, and that is not the kind of impression we want to begin this meeting with."

He curls his hand, a thick coat appearing from the closet, dark as midnight and shimmering blue under certain angles of light. Armour, of his own. Luke stands up, letter tidied up into a neat scroll in his hand, though there's an apprehension to his movements implying that the conversation is still, in his eyes, open and unfinished.

Luke may be a werewolf now, but there's still a thread of Shadowhunter inside him, the better kind, the protective streak unwilling to let things slip by. Some days Magnus curses his susceptibility to broken souls and bruised hearts, to those who need help, calling out to anyone who dares to offer it. It seems to land him in trouble an awful lot.

Though, not always.

"I must warn you," He sweeps his arms, conducting a swirling portal. "The Queen likes to play. Tricks, especially. Of your mind, your heart, and not just with her words. Be as careful about what she does, as you are of what you say, and don't for one second believe her false kindness. There is always an underlying motive, you just don't usually get the chance to see it."

"Have you met with her, before?" Luke asks, dusting off his leather jacket. He even dresses like a Shadowhunter. Like leather is the only texture they know.

Magnus slips the silk pouch into an inner pocket of the coat. "A few times." He admits, tone deliberately controlled. He doesn't need to tell Luke to be on guard, to look out for the unexpected. He does that already. "Anything you hear today, especially where the Queen and I are concerned, stays between us. There are certain things that should not leave the Seelie court."

Luke nods, confused but respecting Magnus enough to trust that it's for reasons important, albeit unbeknownst to anyone else. The portal whips air around them, drawing them close. Magnus offers his hand, smirk growing slowly at Luke's raised eyebrows and drawing confusion.

"Have  _you_  ever been to Faerie before?" Magnus asks, amused in the way only a warlock can be.

Luke glances at his hand, at the silver rings and black nails, at the smoothness hiding centuries of wear and tear. Hands that weild unimagineable power. His hand is larger than Magnus', and warm, paternally so.

Magnus inhales a sharp breath, and turns to face the portal. He isn't ready to face the Queen, but then again, no one that does ever is.

There simply isn't enough time for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Luke's name is intentional by the Queen. She gives no f's. I pretty much meddled with the lore as not much isn't really known about how Seelie's communicate - and they're manipulative and sadistic so I applied that quite deliberately.
> 
> (Technically fire-messages don't work in Faerieland, but then again, we're yet to know how they were invented, and it's not like the Shadowhunters have never reclaimed something that wasn't theirs before...)
> 
> thank you for reading! - [my tumblr](http://killjoyrow.tumblr.com) and [fandom side-blog](http://drugs-and-candy.tumblr.com)


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